


a bell tolls for us

by tselinoyarsk (tselina)



Category: Songbirds of Valnon - L. S. Baird
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2017-12-30 07:05:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1015611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tselina/pseuds/tselinoyarsk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Willim sick, Dmitri must sing the Evensong Descant. It is a chilling job, and Dmitri decides to seek a little sunshine to warm his way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is based on some extra canon found on LS Baird's blog, [this post](http://valnon.tumblr.com/post/43077468784) in particular. 
> 
> these characters, of course, belong to the brilliant LS Baird and the world of Valnon! go to [valnon.org](http://valnon.org/) for more information.
> 
> as far as pairings go... mention of dmitri>kestrel, and ellis/dmitri if you squint. ;) for you, alexa!
> 
> WILL UPDATE MID-2016

Willim had been sick for almost a week, and his absence was its own tangible presence. The Songbirds' solar had been quiet, save the occasional unmusical coughing fit from the Dove's amethyst doorway, as Ellis and Dmitri found themselves with very little to discuss. It was lonely without Willim around to facilitate their common bickering, and for the first few days barely a word passed between them that was not about handing over a new quill or a tea cup. Their had been a mild scuffle over a mislaid scroll on the third day, but that had been the most of their quarreling. Ellis was tired of the quarantine that kept him from Willim's bedside, and he could sense that even Dmitri was hoping for the Dove's quick recovery to ease the awkwardness between Lark and Thrush.

The Dove was in no danger of dying, thankfully, though Ellis was certain Willim would rather pass on than let old Raven loom over him night after night. It was an inconvenience of the winter season, nothing more. But it had meant that for the first time in six years since their cutting, Dmitri had to be sent to do the Evensong Descant. It had taken him little time to learn it, of course, as Dmitri was his own brand of musical genius, but the act itself had always been a haunted one that even Hawk had little good to say about it. The sound of it was chilling, a melody with its major chords stripped from it, leaving a solitary line of song that had more missing than it had presence. 

Dmitri had thus far come back from the Descant unscathed, though clearly exhausted. At first, he had a few disparaging remarks about Willim being shoved up on the dais as he was to croak his song properly, even if it got the whole audience sick. But on a certain night towards the end of the week-- with no sign of Willim's possible recovery-- Ellis noticed that his fellow Songbird was a different shade of pale when he returned. He wanted to say something, a soothing comment or an offer of comfort, but found himself without words. Ellis imagined he could mention being speechless, formulating Dmitri's comeback in his own mind, but it was clear the Lark had little bite in him as he washed his face before bed. In the end, the Thrush remained silent, and it tormented him enough to render him sleepless throughout the night. 

Restless, Ellis lit a lantern and took a quill to his notations, humming a line of the tune softly to himself. He almost jumped out of his skin when the chiming of his beaded doorway alerted him to company.

"Something in major key again," Dmitri said, carefully letting the carnelian beads sway back into place. 

"Yes?" Ellis returned, somewhat bewildered at both Dmitri's statement of truth and his choice to be in Ellis's presence. 

"Clearly I meant that as an insult," the Lark said tiredly, squinting his pale eyes at Ellis, folding his hands into his black sleeping tunic. "You haven't tried anything new in a season."

"I'm writing for the flock," Ellis said, finding what little worry he had for Dmitri vanishing under the sudden scrutiny. "Something warm for the winter, thank you very much. If you want minor key, go to Willim."

"I can't very well go bother His Grace," said Dmitri, his lips pursing in a slight sneer. "He'll send me down to the infirmary myself, and I'd rather not see the mess you'd make with both of us ill."

Self-consciously, Ellis pushed a few odd bottles and tomes around on his desk, frowning at the accusation. "The solar would survive," he said, frowning. "Here now, have you just come to make up for a week of not being a pompous cock at me?"

A brief glimmer of impatience flashed across Dmitri's face, his cheeks reddening. "I am not--"

"Surely you could wait until after your hour," Ellis continued, "I'm not exactly in fighting shape before Dawning--"

"Let me finish!" the Lark snapped. Ellis went still, and Dmitri went on heatedly. "I was-- _suggesting_ \-- you try something new, and at any rate, that isn't why I stopped by."

"Color me surprised," muttered Ellis, drawling his words as he rested back in his seat. "You might as well sit down, if you've business, then."

Dmitri's mouth opened, and it shut again as he sat with a flourish on the foot of Ellis's bed. He looked a strange, dark spot in the midst of the Thrush's fiery colors, and the red glass of the lantern cast a pink stain on Dmitri's pale skin and hair. The Lark seemed to understand he looked out-of-place, drawing himself up to his full height, hands pressed in his lap.

"I have come to ask," said Dmitri, "if you will join me for Descant until Willim is better."

"Descant?" Ellis blinked owlishly, finally resting his quill down. "Only one person can sing Descant, and--"

"Not to sing!" Dmitri snapped, then looked quickly as if he regretted his tone, which was enough to mollify Ellis from reacting in kind. "Not to sing. To--escort me."

"Kestrel was doing that, wasn't he?" said Ellis, suddenly wholly confused. Dmitri's affection for the Preybird Kestrel had only grown stronger as he'd gotten older, and any time spent alone with the former Lark was precious to him. That Dmitri would choose Ellis's company, one he'd often deemed unworthy of his attention on numerous occasions, was a mystery to the Thrush.

"He was-- is-- but he has… other tasks to attend to during this season, and I thought it would be best to not burden him further." Dmitri had smoothed over his spike of temper and looked quite prim, now. "I wanted to extend you the honor."

True enough, the Lark requesting anything of the Thrush would be an honor. The Thrush was the lowest rank of the Songbirds, and without a Dove, the Lark would take precedence in everything. Ellis realized very suddenly that he'd been spoiled by Willim-- Willim, whose rank even superseded the Wing's-- as his best friend did not require him to defer in any way. Dmitri often chaffed Ellis's sensibilities because Dmitri's rank still merited him greater respect, something Dmitri not-so-subtly demanded Ellis comply with. On most occasions, with Willim by his side, Ellis would be able to deflect such demands on his character. But now, faced with Dmitri's strained civility, he wondered how much it would cost him to bow to the Lark just this once. 

After all, Dmitri had been denied the glory of a Lark's power. The responsibilities that a Lark commonly carried in his term were not his to bear, and Dmitri was the kind of boy that sought responsibility. Willim, of course, did not shirk his duties, but Dmitri would have taken them on with a more studious air. The Lark was to be forever reminded that his great plans for himself, the Temple, and Valnon were not to be realized. 

Ellis, content with the miracle of his being chosen as Thrush, could never quite understand Dmitri's indignation before. Now, though, with Willim unable to perform, the responsibilities had all piled on Dmitri at once. He had only the briefest period to adjust, and even someone as resilient as him was sure to succumb to stress. That he would offer Ellis the honor of escorting him to perform the Evensong Descant was an admission of need. Dmitri needed support, something he could not get from the Preybirds, even though he had three former Larks with advice to spare. He needed Ellis, his Thrush, for whatever the reason, and he was asking for help in the only way he knew how: with a fragile, imperious air that would crack at the smallest slight.

Ellis, caught in his ruminations, did not notice how long he took to respond. Dmitri had too much riding on his disguise of dignity to fidget, though he clasped and re-clasped his hands more than once. The Thrush looked him in the eyes and saw something like fear, the worry of rejection. Nothing in him could bear to strike out at that vulnerability, not even the reminder of his lower rank.

"It would be my duty and my honor to escort you, Lark of Valnon," said Ellis, with a genuine smile that warmed his face like the Noontide sun. Dmitri looked a little surprised at being addressed by his title, and the red on his cheeks deepened to betray his pleasure.

"You shouldn't mock me," said Dmitri, as lightly as he could, adjusting the tilt of his chin. "Unless you were being serious, in which case, you have a lot to work on with your polite speech."

"I was being serious," said Ellis, and he found himself laughing a little as he spoke. "And your feathers are all ruffled, making this speech. Come on, then, isn't it close to your hour? You need to smooth out." The Thrush stood, stretching, eyeing the dark window of his room to see the moon outside. "I'll do you the honor of helping you into your dress this morning, too."

"What service," the Lark said, dry, though Ellis caught a smile on his lips as the other boy stood. "I suppose I should go bathe, then."

"Don't worry about waking Willim up," Ellis commented, tidying his notations on his desk. "He's been sleeping heavily due to whatever Raven's been giving him, and his snores are louder than the fountain."

"I don't worry much about Willim on a good day," Dmitri replied blithely, and ducked under the red beads to leave for his rooms. 

Ellis chuffed fondly to himself, ruffling his own hair in amusement. His Lark was a strange creature to him, someone that seemed to be his to-the-letter opposite. He wasn't sure that they'd work very well without Willim around, leaving them as a traditional pair of Songbirds. But that didn't mean they couldn't try to get along better, even if it was just for a few days. He had no high hopes that they'd become bosom brothers, and no desire to force himself on the normally quite solitary Lark. Yet humbling himself to Dmitri didn't feel as shameful as it once would have, and so the Thrush made an effort to be presentable, smiled at himself once in his mirror, and left to aid his fellow Songbird prepare for his early Hour.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He sang the brightest he had since he could remember, buoyed by faith and the realization that beneath him, his Lark was listening to his song.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter has information from this [post](http://valnon.tumblr.com/post/47538623915) on the author's blog. go check out valnon.org for more information on this series!! i've been in love with this world for a long time, and i'd love to see more people contributing to this fandom. <3

Ellis had attended Dmitri's Dawning before, of course. The Lark's debut on Blossomnight was something he'd watched from behind a screen in the sanctuary, sick with his own worry about his first Noontide. He hadn't quite been in the right mindset to fully appreciate Dmitri's crystal clear vocals. Since then, he'd rarely made it save on Saint Lairke's feast mornings, mostly because he preferred to sleep in before his own Hour. Dmitri, in turn, did not much show up to Noontide, and the other's absence was surprisingly not a point of contingency between them. After all, unlike the Temple patrons, they knew that the Hours were only a small fraction of their job. 

Today, however, was different. He'd personally seen to Dmitri's dress, helped him select the tribute earrings, bangles, and rings to adorn his armor. They'd done so in relative silence, as everything had been since Willim had been quieted with sickness. But even without words, there had been a sacred air to the dressing, one that brought Noontide's song right under Ellis's breastbone. 

He bowed at the foot of the dais, accomplished. He raised his head to watch Dmitri transform perfectly into the avatar of Saint Lairke, the first note of Dawning on his rouged lips. A strange warmth had settled over him, even in the chill dais passage. Although he could no longer see Dmitri as the pillar locked into place, he could hear him through the sounding vents. The Songbird of Dawning had a voice as bright as a diamond, though far more valuable, and in his music, Ellis could sense his pride. Not the pride under the aristocratic facade that so often enraged his fellow Birds, but one infused with the joy that Dmitri had in his work, in singing his Hour. 

When Dawning was finished and the last strains of the echo-chords faded away, Ellis was still waiting for Dmitri. As the flockboys covered the dais opening with its grate, Ellis bowed again and shot a smile up at his fellow Bird.

"I should wake up early more often," he said, holding his hand to help Dmitri step down. Dmitri took the proffered fingers delicately, keeping his chin held high as his sandals hit the rough stone. 

"It would do you good," was his reply, and that was all he said as they walked back towards their rooms.

It wasn't until a half-hour before Noontide that Ellis saw Dmitri again, and it was a surprise. Getting into temple dress was a chore to do by one's self, but it was possible. Ellis was a professional at it after six years, barring Kite or Willim giving him a hand, and he was securing his last wrist cuff as Dmitri pushed the beads aside on the door.

"Ah, you haven't put on tribute yet," murmured Dmitri by way of greeting, setting down a small box on Ellis's dresser. "Good." 

He was in a fine black tunic that was faceted at the neck with small studs of black pearls. It was one he'd gotten for Canticles the year before, but it had been too big at the time. Ellis was, in spite of himself, impressed on how Dmitri's shoulders had filled out in under a year. He peered at the box next, curious. "Sounds like you have something in mind?"

"These are tribute from the Regent," said Dmitri, carefully unboxing a set of freshly smithed copper bangles. There were four, each with a band an inch wide and carefully tooled with images of leaves and flowers. "I have a notion they are to be blessed and then to the Queen, so don't plan on keeping them."

"The _Queen_?" Ellis whistled through his teeth, fixing an old comb in his thick hair. "Even as Lark, you're connected."

"Hmm," was Dmitri's reply, and he began to unhook the bangles to attach them around the precious cuffs of Ellis's armor. 

"I've seen her before, she's scarce two years younger than us," said Ellis. "She's a very delicate beauty, and--"

One of Dmitri's brows went up high. "Best banish those thoughts from your head. She's too young, and for Lairke's sake, we're in our term--"

"I wasn't implying I want to sleep with the Queen," Ellis said, scowling, the motion drawing down the delicate wings of his temple paint. "I'm just saying, she's very pretty. Royals don't have to be pretty, after all, they just have to exist."

"Neither do Songbirds," said Dmitri, with meaning, the last of the bangles clicking into place under his delicate fingers. "I suppose Valnon is lucky this time around." 

The comment would have been innocuous if Willim had uttered it, but from Dmitri, it was like a spring snow on a summer's day. Ellis flushed under his paints, hoping that the reflection of the red and orange in the room would cover it up. A compliment on his looks was the last thing he expected to hear, from Dmitri of all people, and he could scarce but re-adjust his crimson drape in his surprise. 

"Come on," said Dmitri, hurriedly, realizing his slip of the tongue too late. Smooth fingers grasped Ellis's square hand and tugged him forward towards the beaded door. "I won't have you late for your Hour on my watch."

"Of course not," said Ellis. Even as they walked in silence to the dais, Dmitri kept his grip on Ellis's hand, leaving only one arm to carry his drape. Ellis was surprised that he could manage from tripping, his mind driven to sudden distraction. It was only the familiar sound of the gas and pumps releasing around the dais chamber that brought him back to his good senses. 

"The Queen will be listening today," said Dmitri, fixing Ellis's drape at his sandaled feet, "and the Regent will be watching for the tribute." 

"Don't make me nervous," laughed Ellis, though it was not the Queen's attentions that would make him so. It was Dmitri and his sharp ears and sharper tongue, if he was the least bit off his mark, but something told him that today, Dmitri would not be listening so critically.

"As if you're ever nervous about anything, the way you speak without thinking," muttered Dmitri, shaking his head and stepping back, hands on his hips. He tilted is head, hair spilling over one side of his face. "I suppose you'll do."

"Thank you, Your Grace," drawled Ellis, certain enough that he looked properly saintly, though today Dmitri's measure of him meant more than it usually did. The sound of the pumps grew louder, and a low groaning under them both signaled the change of the hour.

"Sing to bring heaven down," said Dmitri, bowing slightly as the dais began to move upward. It was not for Ellis that he made the gesture of deference, but to the avatar that Ellis would become, from a plain clothed Songbird to a Saint.

As he raised his arms to the warmth of the sun, holy music filled Ellis to the brim before spilling out of him in a rosy shimmer of sound. He basked in the crimson light of the Noontide window as it shone down upon him, reflecting on his shining copper armor and red jewels: he was now Saint Thryse, the commoner's saint, and though lower born, he was still beloved by his royal kinsmen. Ellis felt their connection now, for the first time since he'd been cut, the fondness meant to be between Songbirds that perhaps was there with Dmitri all along. He sang the brightest he had since he could remember, buoyed by faith and the realization that beneath him, his Lark was listening to his song.

#

Dmitri and Ellis did not ignore each other after Noontide, but rather went their separate ways. There were separate lessons to attend to-- flute, with Hawk and advanced notations, with Osprey-- and even an early dinner was a mute affair, the only sound being poor Willim sleeping noisily in his chamber. Gradually, the light began to fade, and when Dmitri noticed he grew particularly gaunt.

"It's time," he said as he stood up from his divan, eyes on the darkening windows. Dmitri did not beckon Ellis, but Ellis followed without needing a word. While they walked, Dmitri sang his chords, but past the dais, there was silence. It was not an easy quiet, and Ellis wondered why he, too, was filled with such trepidation.

Without Willim performing, the Sanctuary was in a lull. There was no bustle of Flockboys fixing the wall acoustics, only the footsteps of a few laypriests and the murmurs of the deeply devout. Ellis looked around, eyeing where the candles were burning, wondering why the screened room was so poorly lit. It would be properly night by the time Dmitri was done, and it was Evensong that opened the door to darkness, rather than its closing. Ellis couldn't fight the chill that someone was watching them. He could banish the thoughts that it was the Second Dove-- he had not been seen since Willim's cutting-- but Eothan was not the only ghost in the shadows of the temple. The Larks of the past may have very well clustered around Dmitri, listening to him do his duty in the absence of a Dove.

"You can do this," said Ellis, squeezing Dmitri's shoulder.

"I know I can do it," said Dmitri testily, making sure that his own candle illuminated the music he was about to perform. "I've done it for days, now. Be quiet."

Ellis bit back a response, forcing himself to behave, and stepped back from the platform. Dmitri inhaled deeply, and as the dais began to stir to rise empty into the coming night, he released his breath as music.

It was perfect, because it was Dmitri singing it, but it was eerie. The Descant had been sung for every Evensong when there was no Dove, which was far more often than not. Not many Songbirds before had ever heard the full power of the Dove's Hour and would have nothing to compare it to. In the Descant, though, Ellis could hear the shapes and changes that Willim should have been making, the other notes that the echo-chords filled in. But it was not the same at all, and though Dmitri's voice was clear, it was weighed down with the strange loneliness that seemed to permeate the very notes themselves.

When he finished, there was a sheen of sweat on Dmitri's brow, his lantern light flickering over his pale features. He did not look behind him, so Ellis did it for him, trying to see if there were ghost summoned that required banishing. There was nothing but the cool marble and sloped stairs, the dreamy moonlight painting the area white and blue.

"Come on," said Ellis, after the common echos in the sanctuary faded, taking Dmitri's wrist and meeting no resistance at the touch.

The uncomfortable quiet was back as they returned to their solar; Ellis understood what it was, now, that caused the silence. Dmitri was pragmatic and scientifically minded: faithful, of course, but there was no place for superstitions and supernatural nonsense. And yet, something about the music itself was unsettling him, as it had unsettled Ellis tonight. It was that fear and the embarrassment of being so strangely afraid that had the Lark's lips sealed.

Ellis saw Dmitri to his door and curled the beads back for him. He didn't enter, which surprised Dmitri into looking up at his fellow Bird, pale eyes squinting in question.

"Wake me up tomorrow morning," Ellis said, softly, the words coming to him in a rush. "I'll help you again."

The Lark blinked as if dumbfounded before he could find his words. "As you will," said Dmitri, and Ellis let the beads fall behind him before the other could see the flush in his cheeks.

#

"I'm not entirely sure I'm not still dreaming," Willim said to Ellis as he watched the Lark of Valnon enter his chambers, still fully regaled in his holy armor. "Have you really been escorting him to and from Dawning _and_ Descant?"

Finally deemed non-contagious-- but with his throat in a sorry state-- Willim was sprawled out among the divan cushions with a hot cup of honeyed mint tea. He could walk around and go to instrument lessons, but singing was still right out. While Ellis was glad to share company with his best friend again, he found it a little awkward to talk to him about working with Dmitri.

"You're not," the Thrush said at last, shrugging awkwardly. It was strange enough to Willim that he'd be awake before the sun was in the sky, most especially for a boy that was usually Ellis's verbal sparring partner. "What are you doing up now, anyway?"

"I've been in bed for five whole days," Willim said sourly, sipping his tea with a cough, "I'm going stir crazy. If that means I'm in Dmitri's path, so be it."

"He's been all right," said Ellis, gamely shrugging, trying to smile. "We've fought a little, but it isn't the same without you. Mostly it's been quiet."

"I've noticed," said Willim, tilting his head. "I haven't been so bad off with fever that the lack of actual voices hasn't bothered me. You could have at least sniped a little for my sanity's sake." He smiled wanly, and curled up under his blankets a little further. "Raven keeps crowing that my throat may never recover from this, do you know? Hawk had to threaten him to get another physician's opinion to quiet him down."

Ellis frowned at the news, a new worry nagging at him now. It was a stretch, but Willim could very well lose his voice to a simple illness and could be unable to sing his complex Hour of Evensong. The sudden loss would mean he could be turned out of his colors-- something the Preybird Raven had been trying to do since Willim had been cut-- and leave the whole Temple on Dmitri's shoulders. He hadn't quite appreciated what Willim's responsibilities had been before his illness, but Ellis was more than aware of them now as he watched Dmitri struggle under the sudden burden. The Lark could manage it in the end, of that Ellis had no doubt, but he would never be the same. 

"Ellis?" Willim's voice broke through his troubled reverie, and Ellis shuddered at the thought of losing Willim's companionship to nothing more than a persistent cold. 

"Don't mention being turned out again," said Ellis, reaching down to squeeze Willim's shoulder. "And look, while I'm being a good little Thrush and minding my place, do you want something?"

"Some honeycakes would be nice," said Willim wistfully. "But what I'm going to be given is more porridge or soup."

"Lovely," said Ellis, wincing in sympathy. "I'll just sneak you something from my breakfast tray, all right?"

"You're a gem," sighed Willim, closing his eyes. Within minutes, he was dozing, and it gave Ellis the opportunity to intercept the flockboy bringing up breakfast. He hurried to divvy up the portions, tucking a pastry beside Willim's bowl of prophesied porridge, and ducked into the Lark's chambers to share the bounty.

Ellis encountered Dmitri taking off the hip chains that held his drape in place, and it caught him off guard. As the Songbirds aged, the chains would begin to show more and more skin, and for some reason, the cream-colored flesh of Dmitri's thigh was suddenly the most interesting thing in the Lark's dark-toned room. It showed the line of muscle that had been gained by exercise and dance, and the rest of it curved towards the bird-shaped plate that helped secure some holy decency. The warmth from a few days ago passed over Ellis, but it burned a little hotter than before: before he could help himself, he realized he'd been staring for a full refrain of time.

"Stop gawking," said Dmitri, his voice a little thin. He turned around with a snap of his drape, in nothing more than his clout, now, and Ellis decided to say nothing as he arranged Dmitri's breakfast on his dresser. 

"Sorry," Ellis murmured at last.

"Surely you've seen Willim's hips enough times," Dmitri said, low and suddenly irritated.

"Yes, well," said Ellis, trying to shove down the fluttery feeling that had grasped his stomach momentarily. "It's _Willim_."

"Hmm," said Dmitri, maddeningly wordless now, tugging on a tunic with a small grunt, turning to look at Ellis now. His face was still a mask of black kohl and shimmering mica, his sixth year pattern already beginning to take over the curves of his sharp cheekbones. His grey eyes, usually so pale as to disappear into the rest of his complexion, stood out among the blacks. With this new tension in the air, Dmitri looked intimidating to Ellis for the very first time, and the Thrush fought not to stammer.

"Breakfast is served," he said, twitching a half-smile. "And I've got to get my sket piece ready for Kite before I sing Noontide, so if you'll excuse me."

"Of course," said Dmitri, waving a hand like he was dismissing a servant, and Ellis hadn't the time to feel slighted. He practically stormed out of the Lark's rooms as if they'd had a fight, but his stumbling had nothing to do with anger. He didn't seem to wake Willim, which was a small blessing, and with a proper clatter of beads he was in his room, staring at his flushed face in his own mirror.

 _It's just a fleeting thing_ , Ellis thought to himself, going over to his washing table to splash his face with chill water. _I'm going crazy from spending so much time without Willim._ But this had not been the first time the Lark had brought such color to his face, through words or simply by acknowledging him, and Ellis felt more than a little lost as he sunk into the sheets of his bed.

He wondered what he would do with these new feelings, or if there was anything to be done at all. Closing his eyes, he sent a prayer to Saint Lairke for Willim's speedy recovery, and one to his own Saint in a plea for his sanity. _Let things return to normal, soon. Let me hear Evensong and not its shadow._

But Ellis knew, prayers or not, that things had irrevocably changed. He'd helped Dmitri at first with no expectations of them becoming closer: the last thing he expected in the world was finding himself enamored with his fellow Bird.


End file.
